


the way i'm drinking you down

by BlackBat09



Series: Sladerobin Weekend 2k19 [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Red Hood: Lost Days
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, F/M, M/M, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 15:57:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18607768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackBat09/pseuds/BlackBat09
Summary: like i wanna drownFrom the moment Talia mentioned him, Slade should’ve known Jason would be trouble.





	the way i'm drinking you down

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1 of Sladerobin Weekend 2019- Alignment Swap | **Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics** | Imprisonment
> 
> title from Bury a Friend by Billie Eilish.

Truth be told, Slade’s not sure what to expect when Talia drops a casual, “You will have a student soon,” at the end of one of their romps, as she pins up her freshly-dried hair, meeting his gaze in the bathroom mirror when he glances up at her, brow raised. “He will pay well. And he will work hard,” she promises, and, well, that’s really all Slade needs to know. More the first part than the second, really; if someone wants to waste their own damn time and money slacking off, it’s not Slade’s problem, as long as the cash comes in.

“How soon?” he asks, reluctantly taking his eye off Talia to lace his boots.

“A few weeks, perhaps. He has business to finish elsewhere before he comes to you.”

“He got a name?”

There’s a few moments of silence, and Slade glances up to see Talia considering him in the mirror, eyes narrowed and freshly red lips pressed in a thin line.

“Jason.”

Slade grunts a soft acknowledgement, pushing himself up off the bed to join her in the bathroom, hands ghosting lightly over her upper arms as he stands behind her, inhales the scent of them together still lingering on her.

“See you around?” he offers, and Talia’s mouth twitches in a slight smirk.

“Perhaps.” She turns around, smooths the lapels of his leather jacket. “Teach him well. He is deserving of greatness.”

It’s the sort of sentiment that Slade doesn’t expect from Talia, the kind that makes his brows raise as he considers her, but she doesn’t add anything, just gently pats his chest before moving around him. “Until next time,” she murmurs, and he watches her go with a long look before taking a moment to tie his own hair back, glancing in the mirror once more before leaving the hotel room.

* * *

It’s two weeks before Slade hears from Talia’s promised protege, though he doesn’t approach Slade outright, and, were Slade anyone else, he wouldn’t have even noticed. He has a tail as he goes about his day to day life, as he walks the streets, buys groceries, does anything. It’s not terribly off-putting; in fact, Slade would say it’s almost impressive, knowing that this new student is willing and able to get a good look at the situation before he jumps headfirst into it. So he lives his life, lets himself be watched, occasionally catching a whiff of the harsh, probably military-grade, scent blockers that follow him and letting the bite of them sink in and rest at the back of his tongue.

That and the feeling of eyes on him are his only giveaway: even straining his enhanced hearing doesn’t betray any strange footfalls, and the bitter smell of blockers is so elusive but so directionless when he does catch it that Slade could kick himself when he puts it together. This student; Jason; has intentionally left his scent, or lack thereof, all over the area. He knows, then, about Slade’s heightened senses, knows how to confuse and misdirect and blend in with a crowd. He’s good.

It makes Slade all the more eager to meet him.

A week of stalking is followed by someone tripping his security on a Saturday night, the sight of someone in a hoodie with a worn bag over their shoulder appearing on the old monitor Slade uses for the camera feeds, and it’s when the figure glances up and makes eye contact with the feed, raising their brows, that Slade pushes out of his chair and heads for the entrance, opening the door and giving a sharp whistle to draw the figure over from the camera.

It’s hard to tell too much from what he’s being given, in the dim glow of the light from inside that creeps past his own broad form in the doorway, but Slade can make out a few things, and a few more when the figure pushes their hood back to look up at him fully. He’d say he has a good half a foot on them, a decent bit of muscle, but the way they hold themselves just so says they’re armed: armed to the teeth, probably, but comfortable enough with hidden weapons that even Slade can’t pinpoint how many or where they are, just give a rough estimate. The bitter smell of their blocker is strong, combined with the stink of some product, probably whatever’s keeping their hair slicked back and shining strangely in the dim light, and makes Slade want to sneeze just to get the stench of out his nostrils.

He settles for a slight twitch of his nose instead, watching his guest’s eyes narrow and their lip curl before they finally speak.

“I’m Jason.” Slade nods shortly, silent, letting him continue without interruption, and the man’s lips press together suspiciously. “I want you to train me. The sword. Two hundred-thou up front, three hundred on completion.”

Half a mil isn’t bad, though Slade cocks his head at the split, “Not half and half?”

Jason’s mouth twitches for half a second before he answers, “Motivation to do well.”

Slade nearly snorts at that; he wants to, god, that godawful smell; but his only real response is crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the door frame, watching amused as Jason blinks at the extra light hitting his eyes.

“Why me for swordplay, Jason?”

The question seems to catch him just as off-guard as the light, and he blinks again before squinting at Slade, lips that thin line once more. “You’re skilled. One of the most reliable professionals in the business, upwards of a thousand confirmed kills, dangerous with nearly anything; your signature is the sword, but your skillset otherwise makes you a valuable teacher that’ll force me to up my game.”

It’s the most he’s said so far in one chunk, and Slade listens, not just to his words but to his voice, the way his words rise and fall and curl, the way his mouth shapes each syllable; there’s a hint of an accent there that sounds, maybe, Slavic? But it doesn’t sound right on his tongue, and Slade squints a little at him but doesn’t bring it up, just decides he’ll have to listen more.

“It takes more than training with me to get on my level,” he says instead, and there’s that twitch of Jason’s mouth again: a smirk.

“I’ll take what I can get.”

Well, then. Slade will do what he can.

“Pay?” he asks, and Jason nods, slips one arm out of his rucksack and slings it around his body, digging inside and pulling out a thick wad of cash that smells of dried blood, ash, and alcohol, holding open the top of the bag so Slade can see the rest inside. Looks in order, not that Slade won’t check for himself, but he trusts someone Talia’s sent, with the sense to stake out the situation beforehand, not to be the sort of moron to cheat a man like Slade.

There’s not much in the bag that he can see but the cash, and he arches a brow at Jason. “You don’t have anything else?”

“Wh- anything else? It’s two hundred k.”

“Not the money, Jason. Your belongings.”

Aggression pours out of every cell in an instant, so sharp that not even the blocker can stop the smell of challenge and anger that fills Slade’s nose, and he simply watches, doesn’t respond, as Jason rumbles a low growl. “Why do I need them?”

“You weren’t planning to room here?” Slade asks in return, knowing it’ll be simpler, for training’s sake and for Slade’s health, having an eye on this pup at all times. Jason doesn’t stand down, still barely holding back a snarl as he looks Slade over.

“Why? So you can attack me in my underwear while I’m trying to sleep?” he bites, and Slade lets himself smirk.

“How else am I supposed to know how you’d respond to an ambush?”

“You-“ Jason stares at him for a long moment before shaking his head, muttering under his breath in Russian, and Slade pretends not to hear it, even if he and Jason both know he did.

“And wash that shit out of your hair. You smell like chemicals,” Slade instructs, getting another low growl in return as high spots of red color his cheeks, and Slade inhales for a laugh, only to nearly choke as the smell hits him, again, and finally registers. “Christ, is that boot polish?”

Jason’s growl cuts off abruptly, jaw clenching so hard that Slade can hear his teeth grinding together, which, _ow_ , and shoves the stack of cash back into his bag before dropping it at Slade’s feet, the red on his cheeks spreading across his whole face as he tugs his hood up again.

“I’ll be back,” he snaps, and Slade watches him disappear back into the shadows of the alley before picking up the bag of cash.

This is going to be interesting.

* * *

It’s odd every time, getting used to living with someone else after a period of solitude like the ones Slade has, and getting used to living with Jason is even more so; he’s a mess of strange habits that Slade doesn’t even know where to begin with. When he has downtime, Slade hardly knows Jason is there, compared to the way he never shuts up when he and Slade are working together, a constant barrage of jokes and growls and cursing: still in Russian, even as the Slavic accent melts out of his normal speaking voice and settles into something more American, vaguely northeastern in inflection.

“Fuck,” Jason spits after Slade takes advantage of an opening in his guard and tosses him to the floor, still in the process of gauging his baseline skill. He rubs his wrist, snarling, “Go fuck yourself.”

“Is that how you talk to your mother?” Slade asks in the same language, watching Jason freeze and squint up at him from the mat.

“Maybe I do.”

Slade hums, gesturing for Jason to stand again. “Watch your mouth, boy.”

The pup gets to his feet, still eyeing Slade warily as he resets his stance, pretty mouth pressed in that familiar thin line that Slade’s been getting a lot.

He starts switching languages as they continue, like he’s testing Slade; his Arabic has an unsurprising lilt that Slade recognizes from Talia’s accent, his dialect dated in some places in that old, formal way the al Ghuls are so fond of. His French is deadpan, like every statement, even the curses, are part of a sarcastic comment flung at Slade, and his German is precise, enunciated, probably book learned and infrequently used.

And then they get off the mats, and Slade barely gets English out of Jason half the time.

The way he smells is a nightmare, too. Even when he’s sweating, the bitter stink of scent blockers is all that fills Slade’s nose, so strong and harsh that he has to wonder if Jason’s drinking them, and the only things that ever seems to eke out is the salt of sweat and the sharp smell of anger that comes out every time his temper flares, which is often. Slade understands needing to cover up your scent; he does it himself, on jobs; but Jason’s obsession with it is something else entirely.

Even the bathroom they’re forced to share rarely smells of Jason, except when Slade snags a shower not long after one of Jason’s extremely brief ones, when the mirror is still foggy and the tiles are still wet. It’s mostly his shampoo, his body wash; scent-blocking, of course; but sometimes the faint curl of arousal lingers, pheromones enhanced by the humidity of the closed room, which Slade supposes is normal for someone-

“How old are you, Jason?” he asks over breakfast one morning, the pup looking up from his eggs and swallowing before he replies.

“Eighteen.” With the boot polish; and, honestly, Slade still can’t believe that little stunt; washed out of his hair, a tuft of stark white falls across Jason’s forehead and routinely gets tossed back away from his eyes with the rest of the gently curling fringe, like he does now as they watch each other across the table.

Slade hums, returning to his coffee and the news on his phone as Jason keeps staring for a few more seconds before he quickly finishes the rest of his food.

That’s another thing about Jason, the way he eats: hunched over, an arm around his plate, eating as fast as he can, like someone’s going to take it if he doesn’t finish quick. Slade almost wants to tell him to slow down so he doesn’t choke, but he knows it’ll just start a fight with the bullheaded pup that Slade doesn’t want to have. Instead, he just watches as Jason stuffs his face almost as aggressively as he fights.

The fights, Slade must admit, are a good time. Jason doesn’t shrink from blows, takes the nicks of practice swords and the smack of the flat of a blade like they’re nothing, bandaging himself with ease and dabbing vinegar on emerging bruises, another sour smell on top of the bitterness of blockers and the harsh bite of Jason’s rages. He’s always ready to fight again, doesn’t presume to ask for days off no matter how hard they go- he fights, eats, sleeps, and repeats with the sort of single-minded focus Slade expects from someone Talia recommended. Locking blades with him is fun, forcing him into a corner to watch how he reacts, testing how well he can adapt to throwing in hand-to-hand practice and cheap, underhanded tactics- Jason’s skilled, so much so that Slade has to wonder who else has trained him.

The answer comes from an unexpected source.

They’re fighting, as usual, Slade’s sword smacking Jason’s calves into the correct position before diving in to make him fall back, rolling up onto his feet and regaining the corrected stance- he catches on quick- but Slade doesn’t give him time to think before his sword and his bulk are in Jason’s space, slamming him to the mats with a shoulder to his chest and a foot sweeping him off-balance. He starts to swear, as usual, and it’s not what he says but how he sounds that makes Slade stop and stare.

“Vete a la verga, pendejo!”

In the long line of insults Jason has flung at him, the profanity means nothing, but the voice- for a second, Slade’s brain is convinced he’s just tossed Nightwing to the mats, having to shake off the image to just look at Jason, wonder how he could have missed it. The pup stares back, eyes wide, pupils dilated so far that Slade gets a good look at his irises- he doesn’t know how he’s missed Jason’s eyes, either, how one is a soft blue and the other a gold-flecked green- but the sharp smell of fear that rolls off Jason, that he’s never smelled from him before, distracts him from analyzing him.

He doesn’t want the pup to panic, doesn’t know if he can handle Jason getting emotional, so he falls back into a ready stance and raises a brow at him. “You plan to lay there all afternoon?”

The relief on his face is a tangible thing, and Jason scrambles to his feet, his stance finally correct, before launching at Slade with a ferocity that he happily returns. This is far better, far easier, than trying to calm the pup down and talk with him.

Jason hardly speaks at all for the rest of their session, in fact, and secludes himself in his room after his shower, only coming out to eat in a silence far more tense than their usual comfortable quiet. The floor is open for him to speak, to explain, if he wants to get ahead of Slade finding out himself what’s going on, but Jason doesn’t take the opportunity, just shoves his food in his mouth at breakneck speed and washes his dishes without a word before hiding away again.

Slade sighs and pulls up familiar directions on his phone, announcing his intentions to Jason over breakfast the next morning.

“I’m heading out for a few days. Shouldn’t be more than three.” It wakes the pup faster than his cup of tea, head shooting up to stare at Slade, that familiar wide-eyed panic flickering across his face before Jason slams his walls into place, arching a brow at Slade.

“No parties while you’re gone. Got it,” he replies dryly, smart-mouthed brat, and Slade rolls his eye.

“I don’t care what you do, pup, as long as all my shit’s here when I get back.” He pauses to consider his words. “Actually- don’t skip town. You still owe me three hundred k.”

Jason snorts, waving Slade off. “Yeah, yeah, you’ll get your goddamn money. Go kill people for money, I’ll be here drinking all your good liquor.”

He doubts that; Jason’s taste seems to be limited to very, _very_ shitty vodka; but he sits and stares at him for a few long moments anyway, giving him one more chance to be honest.

Stubbornly, Jason doesn’t take it.

Figures.

* * *

Blüdhaven is as it always is, cold and dark and stinking of the river, Gotham’s lights glittering on the horizon while ‘haven’s own flicker weakly in comparison. It’s ugly, dirty, and generally miserable, and Slade only ever comes for one reason if he can manage: the one bright spot in its gloom. He’s forgone his suit- he’s not here to fight, after all, just ask a few questions- scaling a fire escape to hit the roofs, keeping an eye out for that flash of bright blue breaking up the black.

Before he finds Grayson, Jason finds him.

Slade’s not exactly surprised. He’d kept his eye on the place after he left, saw how quickly Jason had mounted his bike and peeled out after Slade, tailing him to the next city with determination Slade has to applaud. That focus will get Jason far in whatever he plans to do with Slade’s training, as will his ability to track someone down.

“Thought you were having a party,” he remarks, earning him a sour look. Tough crowd. “We gonna talk about this now, or are you going to try and stop me?”

The flex of Jason’s fist says he’d prefer the second, but the clench loosens as Slade watches. “What do you want to know?”

He sits on the lip of the roof, patting the concrete beside him for Jason to join him. “Who trained you, Jason?” Slade asks.

“Talia, some. A lot of people- dead now.” The pup slowly, carefully, takes a seat, chewing his lip before admitting, “Bats. Long time ago.”

There it is.

Really, Slade’s just been kicking himself for not noticing; it’s probably the lack of hesitance, the way he follows through instead of pulling his strikes in that way Slade associates with the Bat and his clan. Whoever’s been teaching him have made him deadly, something Slade doesn’t mind- he’s wished to see the Bat’s precious brood let loose and scuff that line of his more than once.

“You’re the one who came after Grayson, then. The one the clown killed.” It’s not a question, but Jason still bobs his head in confirmation, and Slade hums. “Do I even want to ask how?”

He finally gets that laugh, Jason ducking his head with the humorless little sound. “Your guess is as good as mine. Talia found me shambling around Gotham after my little coffin escape act, tossed me in a Pit, and sent my ass on a Murder 101 world tour.”

“I like to think I’m a little more advanced than 100-level,” is all Slade can think to say, and Jason’s grin is finally legitimate.

“Alright. You’re Murder 201.”

They sit in silence for a while, the tension finally calming between them as the night stretches out around them, the faint sounds of motors and sirens and people reaching Slade’s ears. It’s just his luck that he’d end up tutoring a Bat, really, though he can’t say it’s a shock that Talia would pick up her beloved’s lost bird and try to shape him into something better. All in all, he probably should’ve known from the start- but the pup doesn’t seem too concerned with doing things the Bat way anymore, which means Slade doesn’t really have to concern himself with his Bat past.

“Still doesn’t quite explain the Grayson impression.” Jason hums, staring at Slade in brief confusion before the words register.

“Oh. Dick taught me Spanish. I kinda picked up... everything.” Slade snorts- that’s one way to put the uncanny imitation- nodding slightly.

“Anything else I need to know?”

The tension is back in an instant, anger-fear-worry catching on Blüdhaven’s winds and curling in Slade’s nose, bitter and unpleasant. He doesn’t press, just lets Jason decide for himself.

“I’m an omega.” His voice is low, almost inaudible among the other noise of the city, but Slade is paying Jason close attention. “Suppressed and shit, but. Yeah.”

“Figured that,” Slade admits, and Jason jolts upright, a full-throated snarl aimed at him that Slade doesn’t flinch at.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Easy, pup. You’re defensive, angry, raring for a fight at all times, and you refuse to let yourself be scented. Even the most cocky alphas stop trying to challenge me after getting smacked down enough times- you keep coming like you’ve got something to prove, but you wouldn’t be so obsessed with those blockers of yours if you were just trying to compensate for being a beta.”

“I don’t have to compensate for shit,” he snaps.

“And yet you won’t calm the fuck down even though I’ve got no damn problem with your sex, and haven’t brought yours or my own up the whole time we’ve been training.” The wind finally seems to let out of his sails, shoulders still hunched but his snarl morphing into more of a pout.

“So you don’t give a shit.”

Slade can only assume that means previous teachers did, probably spouting the same old-fashioned values that so many knotheads in the business seem to subscribe to. “You’re not wasting my time, or your own, and I’m still getting paid. Unless it starts affecting lessons, I don’t care.”

He’s not sure Jason entirely believes him, but it’s the kid’s prerogative. Slade can only hope this honesty means he’ll stop with those goddamn scent blockers before he has to dump them down the sink himself.

Jason gets to his feet, stretching out and cracking his spine. “Well. You got your answers. Let’s get out of here before ‘Wing catches your scent and I end up in a fight that ain’t mine.”

Now, there’s an image. Grayson’s pretty, nice toned acrobat with that cute ass of his, but Jason’s tall, broad in all the right ways with those thick thighs... Hm. It’d be a hell of a fight to watch, though Slade supposes the pup’s right. Not tonight.

Save it for some other time.

* * *

None of the revelations change how Slade treats Jason, which seems to suit him just fine; he’s wary, at first, but a few swift beat downs and Jason seems to get that Slade’s not going easy on him. In fact, now that he’s got a rough estimation of how long Jason’s been training, he’s going to press that much harder to make him better. There’s something utterly satisfying about watching a Bat hit the mat beneath him, bruised and battered from his hits-

Maybe it _has_ changed how Slade treats him, he considers, watching Jason wheeze to catch his breath and feeling that smug pleasure settle in his chest. His clear enjoyment doesn’t seem to phase Jason, though, the pup simply redoubling his efforts with every clash, slipping smoothly between the sword and his own body as weapons, exactly the sort of flexibility and skill they’re trying to cultivate. It never seems enough for Jason, though; there’s been a few times Slade figures he could have moved on, been content with what he’s learned, but Jason gets up the next morning and goes through his katas before breakfast every time, not breaking their routine, and Slade doesn’t push him to leave. It never gets repetitive, never starts feeling like a waste of his time, so Slade keeps beating the tar out of Jason and watching him improve.

Watching Jason, in general, has become a habit. While before it was getting accustomed to the pup and his quirks, it’s something else since coming back from Blüdhaven; Jason’s a little freer with his words outside of fights, a little lighter on the bitter scent blockers, a little more open in general, and Slade can’t look away. His brain shorts the first time Jason lifts the bottom hem of his shirt to wipe sweat from his face, taking in everything he can in the few moments before it drops again: the curve of his hips and the V of his Adonis belt, the roll of his muscles under a layer of softness as he curls forward, the various scars littered across his skin, one bisecting his torso that Slade finds himself wanting to follow with his tongue. He doesn’t know if Jason’s just more comfortable or if he’s trying to show off, but the fact remains that there’s been a shift in how he acts, and Slade’s starting to regret his ideology of “I don’t care as long as it’s not a problem.”

He’s known the Bats long enough that he should’ve expected Jason to make it a problem. Trouble follows the birds like they follow their mentor, especially this little tragedy, so why Slade thought he’d get a break is beyond him.

It’s subtle, at first. Jason hasn’t given up the scent blockers altogether, just dialed them back a little, but there’s still a pretty consistent level of bitterness on the back of Slade’s tongue with every inhale. His mind quickly notes it as the new normal and it stays in that range; Jason’s application is measured and consistent, meticulous, like the way he does katas or makes tea; but another smell grows even as it stays consistent. It’s an undertone at first, smoke and sweetness, not enough to identify but enough to catch Slade’s attention. If it were just the smoke, he’d brush it off as the occasional cigarette Jason has, but they’re not flavored like the hint of sweetness, nor would those infrequent smokes explain how it’s getting stronger. His natural scent, then, growing past the blockers.

The question is why it’s doing that, and the answer comes soon enough.

Jason’s been off throughout their daily session, clearly in pain beyond the usual soreness, though he fights through it like he always does, teeth bared and strikes hard. Hard but sloppy, Slade notes as he parries, cracking the back of Jason’s hand with the hilt of his sword, loosening his grip enough to tear Jason’s weapon from his hands and toss it across the room. It’s definitely a bad day if Jason’s favoring that right ankle of his again, but the pup knows damn well to work even harder through bad days, even as Slade slams his foot into said ankle and then plants a fist in Jason’s gut, throwing him to the ground on the follow through. He doesn’t give him a chance to recover, stays on top of him the whole fall and pins him with the blade to his throat, teeth bared as Jason growls back at him-

They both stop short at the burst of scent that fills the air between them, inhaling wild cherry so thick Slade can feel it in his lungs. If Jason didn’t realize something was happening before, he does now, eyes wide and lips parted, and Slade watches the pupils of those mismatched eyes grow as he rumbles deep in his chest, reflexively trying to soothe the slight hints of distress from that syrupy scent.

“That son of a fucking bitch!” Slade gets a knee in the gut for his troubles, rolling off of Jason as the pup scrambles to his feet, sweet smell souring with that familiar anger. “I’ll be fucking back,” he spits, storming from the training area, leaving Slade to sit on the mats and put together the pieces as he listens to Jason’s bike peel out of the garage.

Jason’s an omega. Jason’s scent has been getting stronger, despite consistent blocker use. Jason’s been off his game today, and his scent had spiked, shocking and angering him.

He’d been on heat suppressants. His suppressants started failing. He’s in heat.

Slade’s not ignorant enough to think that Jason’s heat means anything for their current relationship: enough years married to Adeline managed to override the godawful sex education of his childhood and the military’s rampant sexism. A heat doesn’t mean Jason’s suddenly going to lose his mind or his inhibitions. If anything, they’re probably just going to need to hold off on training for a week or so, especially if this is the first heat he’s had in a while.

This in mind, Slade finally gets off the mats, his and Jason’s blades put up before he goes to shower. He refuses to acknowledge the nagging warmth in his gut and the way Jason’s scent lingers everywhere, clearer now that Slade’s gotten a nice face full of sweet cherry smoke. The want pushes at the inside of his skull and Slade pushes back, mouth set in a stubborn snarl as he rushes through a chilly shower to redress as quickly as he can. His instincts aren’t going to get the better of him here; Slade’s stronger than them and he knows it.

When Jason’s bike does rumble back into the garage, Slade is sipping tea, scrolling the local news on his phone to see if he can spot Jason and whatever trouble the pup fled towards. There’s nothing there, and Slade lifts his eye to look Jason over, helmet hair and an upset flush to his cheeks not improving the way his scent affects Slade in the least. Rather than talking, Jason all but stomps past him towards his room, noisily rifling through his things until he comes back out to Slade with a softly clattering bottle of capsules, spilling them across the table before he picks one up, popping it open in his hand and lifting it to sniff it. That same hand gets shoved in Slade’s face, a lump of fine white powder under his nose that Slade eyes warily.

“Smell it.”

“Really?” Jason snarls and Slade inhales a little- chemicals, whatever makes up the medication, and- “Is that-?”

“Sugar,” Jason confirms, yanking his hand away to rinse the handful down the kitchen sink before he grabs the garbage can, sweeping the whole mess of capsules and the bottle they came in into the trash. “Fucking shit-for-brains dealer’s been cutting what he gets to make it last longer. His regulars may not recognize how weak his shit is, but I sure as hell did.”

Idly, Slade wonders if the man Jason bought from dared do the same to any rut suppressants he sold, or if he thought alphas were more dangerous to his life than an angry omega. A stupid assumption to make. “Did you kill him?”

A disgusted look crosses Jason’s face. “No. Scared the fuck out of him and cut him a little, but he’s still providing shit people need. If I go killing him for pissing me off, it gives the others an excuse to jack up suppressant prices.”

Smart pup. “Did you want tea?” Irritation spikes sour in Jason’s scent as he sneers at Slade, flush dulled to a dusky pink.

“I don’t need ta be waited on hand and foot just cuz my shit was bad,” he snaps. Slade stares back at him.

“I was just going to tell you there’s enough water left in the kettle for you, but you’ll likely need to heat it again, since you took so damn long to get back.”

His face burns red again, growling low before he turns to the stove and resolutely ignores Slade, which is fine. It gives Slade the chance to watch Jason as he makes his own cup, sets the kettle on the stovetop and flicks on the burner, arms crossed as he waits. The whole room smells like cherry smoke, and part of Slade- a lot of Slade, though he’ll never say it aloud- is hoping Jason’s the type who prefers company during a heat, to help soothe the miserable cramps and level his emotional state. More likely, the pup is the type to prefer solitude and snap at any efforts to help, but the idea is still-

“How long have you been on suppressants, Jason?” he asks, distracting himself from that dangerous line of thought. A grunt answers him, the pup waiting until his water is ready to answer Slade, sitting at the kitchen table and wrapping his hands around the mug as the tea steeps.

“Since I was twelve.” Mismatched eyes size him up warily. “You on ‘em?”

Slade shakes his head, “Not since I was in the military. I don’t have ruts anymore.”

“No?” He can hear the smirk in his voice even if Jason’s hiding it from his face, head tilted curiously. “Too old?”

Brat. “I’ve had enough kids and the cycle is a nuisance. My body responded accordingly.” He doesn’t explain further, just lets Jason squint at him and think what he likes; the ins and outs of his powers aren’t something Slade likes to advertise, or even really think about. As long as his body cooperates with him, he’s fine. “Six years straight without a heat, then.”

Jason sips his tea, wrapping his finger up in the string of the teabag with idle curls. “Yeah. Been nice, not dealing with it.”

“But now you have to.”

“Mm.” He wants to offer to help, a hand, but Jason doesn’t seem receptive to much of anything at the moment, his shoulders as straight as his brow is wrinkled, staring at his tea as though the leaves will guide him. Instead he continues to watch Jason, as he’s been doing for weeks now, the tension in his shoulders growing and his fingers tightening around his mug. “What do you want.”

“Me, Jason?”

He bites out a scoff, mocking, “ _Me, Jason_? Yeah, you. Don’t be fucking coy, Wilson, who the fuck else would I be asking?”

Slade has tried- really, he has, since Jason showed up at his door- to treat Jason professionally, but now he growls, the full force of an alpha behind it, a true alpha, not some overconfident jackass who thinks himself god’s gift. And Jason, fuck, he growls right back, vicious, not giving Slade an inch. It’s that that has Slade so interested, the fact that Jason won’t budge, won’t bend; it makes Slade want to break him.

“I was going to say I wanted to know what you want, to try saving your pride, but since being decent doesn’t seem to get through your _thick little skull_ \- I want to knot you until you stop _bitching_.”

With how Jason is, there’s a good chance that gets Slade attacked, or at least told in graphic fashion where can shove that desire, but neither is forthcoming. In fact, Jason’s smirking, and Slade is struck with the feeling of unintentionally skipping a step and nearly losing his balance, the brief free-fall and the way his stomach whirls for a moment before righting himself: he missed something, and now he’s standing on ground that he’s not quite sure how he got to.

“It’s gonna take more than a knot to do that, but you can damn well try,” Jason rumbles, and he smells syrupy and hot and Slade’s own pheromones respond, even as his brain is still trying to figure out what the fuck is happening. The pup’s propositioning him, not that Slade minds in the least, but how they got here is taking a minute to add up.

The way Jason followed him, before they’d even met. How he never never stepped down from training, always giving Slade his all to get the same back. The little game he’d started, cussing Slade out in different languages to see if he’d keep up. Hell, even the faint whiff of arousal in the shower when he could have just as easily hidden that from Slade like the rest. Jason’s been testing Slade, his smarts and his strength, watching his responses to everything he did to try and gauge whether he was good enough.

Even if his identity and his heat weren’t part of Jason’s plan, it seems like fucking Slade may have been for a while, and the omega wanted him to prove himself. And he did. That’s a boost his ego didn’t need, but fuck if it doesn’t make him want Jason even more, knowing he’d earned him.

“Unless it’s gonna cause a problem.” It’s casual and Slade doesn’t buy it for a second, nor does he want to refuse. “We can keep it professional, I’m just gonna be off my game for like a week.”

Absolutely not. Slade rumbles a low, rough sound, standing and rounding the table to stand over Jason, watching his pupils grow as he stares up at Slade, another burst of warm cherry filling Slade’s lungs that makes his fucking mouth water. “We can break for a week. Get professional again after.”

Jason’s on his feet in a second, mug forgotten as he purrs, practically chest to chest. “I don’t present, I ain’t calling you Alpha, an’ if you get your teeth near my neck, I get to pull ‘em out one by one.”

“I’m not looking to mate you, Jason.” That’s a filthy lie, his instincts snarl, Jason’s gorgeous and strong and mouthy and Slade’s earned the right to claim him, but he can hold back, give Jason what he needs and show him he deserves to bury his teeth in that pretty throat. He’s hit every single button Slade has, probably without even realizing it, and he wants in a way he hasn’t wanted in a long time, primal, gut-deep, canines itching and knot already starting to ache.

“Good. I don’t need a fuckin’ mate,” Jason answers, prideful, eyes smoldering dark with lust as he looks Slade over, grinning. “Now, you gonna fuck me or not? Cuz if I don’t come soon, these cramps are gonna kill me.”

“Fucking brat.” Slade fists his hand in Jason’s hair and drags him in to crush their mouths together, fangs raking over his lips immediately and lapping at the blood that wells up, salty-hot-sweet bursting across Slade’s tongue before diving in to let Jason taste it, unable to stop the smirk that twitches across his face at the pup’s sweet moan before Jason pushes back, fisting his hand in the front of Slade’s shirt. He doesn’t back down, doesn’t give Slade an inch, and a pleased growl rumbles in his chest at Jason’s backbone. God, how fucking perfect.

They break for breath, Jason panting to fill his lungs while Slade inhales his heady scent, smoke and cherry and the musky scent that Slade knows is slick, growling again: Jason’s wet, for him, and he’s slammed with another wave of arousal before the first even recedes. “Grab my shoulders,” he snarls, and Jason obeys in a second, only baring his teeth in defiance when he realizes what he’s done, and Slade chuckles meanly in return, wrapping his hands around those goddamn beautiful thighs to hoist Jason off the ground. He starts to snarl again, but Slade pulls their bodies together, settling Jason right against his hard cock and watching smugly as the pup’s eyes roll back for a second, hips jerking against Slade’s with a little whine as he wraps his legs around around him on instinct, squeezing hard.

“Good boy,” Slade purrs, Jason’s nails digging into him through the thin fabric of his shirt as he adjusts his grip, letting the pup scent him as he carries Jason, _his omega_ , _his_ , out of the kitchen, kicking open the door to his bedroom and promptly pinning Jason against it. His back arches as Slade ruts up against him, clawing at Slade’s upper back and claiming his mouth for another bruising kiss, the omega’s fangs tugging at his lips and catching his tongue as Jason sucks at it, the sensation making Slade rumble with pleasure as he imagines that hot mouth around his cock.

“Sla- _ade_.” He hums in reply, breaking the kiss to lean in and scrub his beard against Jason’s throat, marking him until the flood of sweet pheromones comes out tinged with Slade’s own sunlight and warm metal scent, calling to mind the red coils of a car lighter pressed against the tip of a cherry cigarette, and purrs roughly, kissing along Jason’s jaw until he catches his mouth again. It’s obvious Jason wants it now, hard, fast, the way he tears at Slade’s shirt and pulls his hair, but Slade just smirks, digs his fingers harder into his thigh and slides the other hand back to his ass to pull him closer, closer, closer, until he can feel his heat through the layers of fabric separating them. “ _Fuck_ -“

“Tell me what you want, Jason.”

“Try making me beg and I’ll break your fucking neck, Slade,” he bites back, but it’s meaningless when his head is falling back and a moan is edging into his voice.

Cute. “I believe it,” Slade assures him, hefting Jason off the door to practically toss him to the bed, stripping off his shirt as Jason shifts and scents his sheets, spreading out to shove them into a half-decent nest before acknowledging Slade’s hungry stare with a raised brow and a grin.

“Anyone ever tell you how goddamn slow you are?” he asks, his own shirt joining Slade’s on the floor before he relaxes back again, fingers tracing the Y-shaped scar from the left branch, down his sternum and abs, eventually dipping beneath his waistband with a rough sigh, the sound of his fingers through the slick gathered between his thighs making Slade’s pulse pound in his ears. Keeping up the banter comes second to tugging Jason’s pants off, fabric tearing under his fingers, but Jason’s protests soon turn to groans as Slade gets to his knees, tosses Jason’s thighs over his shoulders, and buries his face in his slick heat, tongue pressing in alongside Jason’s fingers to taste him with a greedy snarl.

It’s goddamn heaven, the bite of smoke and sweet tang of cherries and the way Jason’s slick coats not just his tongue but his lips, dripping down his chin as Jason pulls his fingers out of the way, tangling them in Slade’s hair and tugging him closer, groaning breathlessly. Unlike Slade, Jason hasn’t gotten a shower between training and now, and the salt of sweat on his skin just drives Slade even crazier, the smell of exertion reminding him just how strong and capable Jason is, how good his omega is. Another satisfied purr rumbles in his chest as he licks slick from his lips, rubbing his face against the scent glands on Jason’s inner thighs before turning his head to suck a hickey into one, smirking as Jason’s back arches and his fingernails scrabble at Slade’s scalp. “You fucking- Slade, _goddammit_ -“ Every gasp is music.

The sound of Slade pressing his face back into Jason’s slit is obscene, wet and sloppy just like the omega, jaw working as he laps at his folds and his hole, pride clawing at his chest with every renewed gush of slick that bursts over his tongue. Jason curses when Slade’s mouth moves to his erect clit, tongue curled around the underside as he sucks him off, sinking a thick finger into his hole as Jason grinds against his face. Every shock of pain from Jason pulling at his hair only spurs Slade on, teeth scraping against Jason’s clit to make him writhe and yelp, another rush of slick letting him press a second finger into him, curling his calloused fingers against his walls and grinning wickedly when Jason’s thighs squeeze against his skull. “ _I swear to Christ_ \- I said make me come, not _tease_ ,” Jason cries, and Slade figures that’s as close to begging as he’ll get for right now.

His fingers stay steady, slick thrusts into his soft folds as Jason shudders above him, thighs drawing tense with each drag of Slade’s tongue over his lips and clit, faster and harder until Jason’s breath catches. The exhale is a moan, hips jerking and walls fluttering around Slade’s fingers as he continues to press, Jason squirming with a whine at the oversensitivity, at Slade’s hot breath against his throbbing clit as he murmurs, “Come for me again, Jason,” before sucking him back between his lips, tongue stroking the underside of his clit until Jason shouts, his second orgasm covering Slade’s hand in cum and leaving Jason shaking, core muscles twitching as he comes down.

“Good, Jason. Good boy.” _Good omega_. A weak growl answers him, trailing into a whimper when Slade drags his fingers out of Jason’s soaked cunt to taste the cherry-sweet mix of slick and cum on his hand, eyeing Jason from between his thighs and chuckling at the way the pup hides his red face. It doesn’t help when the flush has already spread down his throat and across his chest, but Slade lets him, lays a soft kiss against the scent gland he’d already marked up before moving Jason’s legs from his shoulders so he can stand. He takes it slow, dropping kisses against Jason’s skin, nipping at his hipbones and fulfilling his own selfish fantasy of tracing that autopsy scar with his tongue, derailing himself to kiss the other scars littering Jason’s torso, the starbursts of bullets and the jagged knife wounds. The scars beneath his pectorals get the same soft treatment, before Slade moves to tongue one of his nipples, earning a weak flick to the forehead for his troubles that he just laughs at.

“You make me come twice back to back and then decide to take your fuckin’ time?” Jason grouses, other hand still covering his burning face. Slade just hums, nipping at Jason’s collarbone and smirking when Jason swats him again.

“I’m not allowed to enjoy myself?”

He scoffs. “Not unless you’re enjoying yourself knot-deep inside me, no.” The ache between his own legs that Slade’s been ignoring in favor of Jason throbs with renewed want, the leak of pre probably staining his sweats as he growls his want against Jason’s flushed skin, fingers pressing bruises into his soft hips.

“You’re a greedy brat.”

“And you’re a dirty old man. Fuck me already,” Jason demands, growling lowly when Slade snarls at his impatience.

“Not giving me an inch, are you?”

Jason’s eyes narrow at Slade’s murmur. “Sayin you can’t handle that?” It’s another challenge, Jason making him prove himself, over and over, and Slade leans in to bite at Jason’s swollen mouth, drawing more blood before kissing him, pressing the omega against the mattress and letting him really feel Slade.

“I can handle you,” he assures Jason, husky against his lips, and lets go of his hips just long enough to push his pants off, kicking them away as his cock is finally freed, thick and heavy with blood and his already half-swollen knot. He moves over Jason, hair falling around their faces as he claims his mouth again, one arm braced against the mattress as the other pulls Jason up by his hip, guiding his legs around Slade’s own hips so he can grab for a pillow to shove beneath Jason’s lower back. It’d be easier to take Jason from behind, face against the sheets and his back arched, but he can’t deny the appeal of being able to see Jason, appreciating the way his jaw drops when Slade rubs his cock against his slick folds and puffy clit, a rumble of pride accompanying each rut of his hips.

It makes Jason whine, pretty little sounds as he tries to jerk his hips to meet Slade’s, and Slade is happy to swallow them down with more bruising kisses as their slow grind covers his cock in wetness, relishing in how Jason keens when he shoves three thick fingers in his sloppy cunt to get more of his natural lubrication. Only after he’s dripping with Jason’s slick does Slade take himself in hand, slowly dragging his tip from the bottom of Jason’s cunt to his clit, covering the sensitive bud in his own leaking pre before guiding himself back to Jason’s hole, kisses slowing as he nudges against him, not yet pressing inside. Jason whimpers again, hips jerking and face screwed up in frustration as his nails zip across Slade’s upper back, leaving bloody lines in their wake.

“Slade-!” He kisses him, all-consuming but soft, suffocating the breath from his whining and leaving him wild-eyed and panting when he breaks away, still teasing his entrance as he kisses Jason’s jaw.

“Words, Jason. Tell me what you need,” he urges lowly, not flinching when Jason’s heels slam against his lower back, a frustrated snarl ripping out of him.

“You know,” he accuses, voice wobbling when he tries to thrust his hips up and Slade pulls back, “Slade, you know! Don’t be a fucking- _oh_ \- _bastard_ -“

Another nip at his jaw, a reddish bruise blooming under his ear as Slade taunts him with shallow thrusts, never fully pressing inside Jason. “Say it,” he growls, and the gush of slick and burst of scent that follow aren’t nearly as sweet as Jason’s needy sob.

“Fuck me,” he snarls wetly, nails digging deep and breaths stuttering, “Fuck me, god, _Slade_ \- your cock feels so fucking big, need it- wanted your knot for _weeks_ -“

The rest is an incomprehensible moan as Slade thrusts inside him, the admission that he’s been craving this breaking down the pretense of control Slade’s been holding onto; he wants Jason just as much and he’d be stupid not to take him now that he’s allowed. He feels like heaven around Slade’s cock, soft and wet, and the devastated little sob Jason lets out when the growing knot slips inside him and pops back out almost takes Slade’s breath away. Jason’s fingers tangle in his hair as Slade thrusts steadily, deep and hard, gasping moans following every forceful shove of his cock inside Jason’s body that Slade drinks up like wine from the omega’s bruised mouth. His needy whimpers and tugging at Slade’s hair urge him faster, muttering against Jason’s lips as the tempo of their bodies coming together gets quicker, breathless praise for how strong he is, how responsive, how he takes Slade’s cock so fucking beautifully.

“So good for me, Jason,” Slade purrs, breathless, bruising grip pulling Jason into every thrust as his back arches and his legs shake where they’re wrapped around Slade’s body. The words make Jason turn pretty shades of red, each hiccuping moan accompanied by tears leaking from mismatched eyes that Slade kisses away, licking salt from his lips as Jason cries his name, louder and more desperate each time Slade’s swollen knot nearly catches on his rim. Every squeeze and flutter of his walls around Slade only makes the snap of his hips against Jason’s harder and faster, claiming the omega’s mouth brutally as he reluctantly pries his fingers from Jason’s side to slip them between their bodies, stroking the omega’s slick-soaked clit until Jason is sobbing against his mouth. His voice cracks when he shouts, the soft walls of his cunt gripping Slade tight as he comes, and Slade’s own orgasm blindsides him, knocking the breath from his lungs as his cock jerks inside Jason, a final deep thrust locking them together so that not a drop spills as Slade fucks his cum into Jason with shallow ruts of his hips.

It’s not until Jason crushes their mouths together again, growling for him to shut the fuck up, that Slade realizes he’s been rumbling possessive praise, laughing softly at Jason’s ire before kissing him back, hips finally slowing to a halt. A bone-deep satisfaction comes over him as he inhales the scent of sex and sweet cherries, not a single hint of distress to indicate Jason is still in pain, and he rumbles a purr as he settles his head against Jason’s shoulder, idly scenting him until Jason shoves at his face, grumbling, “Move, you’re fucking heavy.”

“If you’d let me mount you...” Slade trails off, suppressing a chuckle when Jason scoffs at him.

“Not in your lifetime, old man. Roll over,” Jason instructs, and Slade obliges, taking Jason with so the knot doesn’t tug at him painfully. The omega settles against his chest, wriggling his hips just a little, and sighs contentedly, cheek pressed to Slade’s sternum. “After your knot goes down, I’m gonna ride you until you can’t see straight.”

Slade huffs a laugh, reaching up to card his fingers through the omega’s sweaty hair. “Whatever you want, Jason.”

**Author's Note:**

> blackbat16 on tumblr, comments are love!


End file.
